Inspired By
by Wolfox6
Summary: DA:O - One-shots based on characters created by other fanfic writers - with their permission, of course!  Ch 1: Merisoo/Loghain.  Ch 2: Torrin/Niall/Alyce.
1. Merisoo Meets Loghain

_BioWare owns Dragon Age_…

_Shakespira_ _owns Merisoo_…

_Inspired By…the perfect mage in chapter 8 of Shakespira's 'With Noble Intent'. Thank you, milady, for allowing me to play with such a nightmarish creature….XD_

O.O

Born blessed by the Maker and Andraste, Merisoo had never wanted for anything in her life. The mountain-side village of her childhood overflowed with an astonishing abundance of blossoms in the spring, amassing a wealth of magnificent crops in the fall. Every lamb survived to grow into a bearer of the most desirable fleece. All cows and ewes contently donated extraordinarily rich milk to be made into the finest of cheeses. Each sow gave birth to numerous lively babes which grew to enormous size themselves.

Her birth had been their boon, or so the villagers whispered to one another. The unspoken acknowledgment of her healing ability was a well-guarded secret, kept even from the far-off Chantry. Unfortunately, suspicious neighbouring towns called for an investigation into the unseemly bounty, and Templars were dispatched to find the source of the wondrous richness in the prodigious hamlet.

Great anguish befell when Andraste's Warriors caught Merisoo in the act of healing a wind-battered ladybird beetle upon their arrival.

Needless to say, she was promptly claimed by the Holy Knights. Memories of the wailing merchants and weeping farmers haunted her for many a year. Having being drained of mana by the rather regretful Templars, Merisoo was unable to use her abilities to ease their pain upon her departure.

Unlike other children transported to the Circle Tower, her soothing nature soon captivated the grim warriors. They marveled at the spectacle of swarming birds joyously twittering and swooping in circles above her head. The gossamer, shimmering aura created by the myriad of butterflies clustering about her left them speechless. After the first rainstorm had passed along on their way to Kinloch Hold, one of the Templars _swore_ he could see the rainbow arcing from her feet.

The others became convinced of the holiness emanating from the little wonder in their midst. As a group they began to question the tenets set upon them by the Chantry. _Could she be Andraste re-born? What if Andraste _had _been_ _a mage - would She seriously be considered a possible threat to Her people, thus being condemned to a lifetime of isolation? Did the Chantry truly expect them to watch as this perfect little girl succumbed to the dark despair that claimed the_ _spirits of so many of her_ _kind?_ The questions nagged at them, eating away their once indomitable resolve.

The previously indoctrinated Knights knew if they attempted to hide Merisoo, the Chantry would send apostate hunters - the ones trained to kill on sight. Against their better judgment they decided to continue on with their journey to the Tower of Magi. Heart-sick, the Templars agreed to finish with their duty, and_ then_ forsake their vows. They would disperse into the Frostbacks, and search for others who would spread the word that Andraste had returned to Thedas. It was all they could do while formulating a plan to free her from the cold, heartless prison of Kinloch Hold. She sadly hugged the sobbing warriors as they said their good-byes. Though she never heard from them again, Merisoo hoped the former Templars found what they were looking for in the Frostback Mountains.

.

Almost three decades later, Merisoo found herself…_bored_. Being gifted with eidetic memory gave her plenty of free time to perfect skills in the differing schools of magic. Even the translation of ancient Tevinter tomes became tedious in the repetition. Bereft of stimulating undertakings, she was at a loss as how to rectify the matter. When Uldred and Irving informed her of the King's call for Magi assistance at Ostagar, she leapt at the chance for adventure. The fresh air and exercise would do her some _good_, she surmised.

The rain-splattered, muddy morass of Ostagar was more of a challenge than she'd expected.

The experience was not what Merisoo had imagined it would be, as certain groups made their concerns about her company _quite_ clear. Ash Warriors lamented loudly as their once-ferocious battle hounds were reduced to joyful, wriggling, squeaking masses of fur and muscle in her presence. The Commander of the Grey Wardens was aghast upon watching his men carelessly toss their shields and capes over puddles to ease her passage. Priests stared in shock as the troops genuflected in her direction while praying. Many considered her presence in Ostagar an impediment, _not_ a boon.

In search of someone to heal rather than hinder, Merisoo explored the rain-battered encampment. Catching sight of two great tents dominating the grounds, she strolled over to them in hopes of finding respite from the constant downpour. Curiosity led her to the Teyrn of Gwaren's pavilion first. She'd grown up reading of his heroic deeds - was he truly as great as he was portrayed to be?

Merisoo smiled at the Teyrn's guardsman, only to gasp in horror as the seemingly stalwart soldier suddenly fainted. With arms spread wide, he slowly fell back into an enormous mud-puddle, sheer bliss lighting up his face. Almost immediately a stern-looking aged man stepped out from the tent. Silverite eyes glanced at the unconscious form at his feet before turning an accusing glare towards her.

"I swear, Ser, I did nothing but smile at him," she murmured in her low, throaty voice. To her enormous relief, his gaze softened and his lips parted in surprise.

Q.Q

Loghain had gone without sleep for far too many nights.

Conscience battled with duty as fear battled with hate. Since Commander Genevieve had somehow ensorcelled Maric and betrayed the late king during an ill-fated trip to the Deep Roads, he had viewed the Order of Grey Wardens with ill-concealed disdain. Now he had to deal with _Cailan's_ hero-worship for the newest Commander of the Grey.

He was torn as to what to do next. Did he tag along with the Warden Commander's directions? Or did he put an end to their existence within his beloved country? What about the letters from Eamon concerning Cailan's duty to provide an heir, possibly with Empress Celene? What would Maric - or more importantly - what would _Rowan_ do, were she in his shoes? Rowan's memory had guided his conscience for so long. Maric, on the other hand, most likely faked a 'death by ship-wreck' to escape from his responsibilities. The kingdom needed another Rowan, another Queen with comparable devotion to duty. Anora was such a Queen. She deserved better than to be held back by the worship of the Theirin bloodline, for all its historic glory.

More disturbing was Maric's unacknowledged son, now a fully-fledged Grey Warden. The boy was no longer shackled by the Chantry, and one day could become a threat to the future stability of Ferelden. The General's informants told him of the Anderfel's acceptance of 'Grey Warden right to rule'. As well, the realization that the present Warden Commander was of Orlesian persuasion was unsettling. Eamon's interference had been taken care of with an apostate's help. The only remedy for the poison coursing through the Arl of Redcliffe's veins was resting in a locked chest hidden in this very tent. Loghain needed only to formalize a plan to keep Alistair, and the Grey Wardens, away from Denerim.

In the process of rubbing his bleary, tired eyes, he heard an odd noise from outside. Loghain strode through the flap, halting just in time to avoid trampling over the inert guardsman. He stared down at the prone form in the puddle. The guard's mud-caked face was _beaming_ with joy. What kind of sorcery was _this_? The sudden painful memory of a previously 'shocking' encounter with one of the Circle Tower's mages had him seething with rage. Looking up from the torpid man, he glared at the woman standing beside the fallen guard…then _melted_ at the sight of her.

She was…_perfection_. Long, thick ash-blonde hair cascaded over shapely hips. Almond-shaped azure eyes sparkled through golden lashes. Heart-shaped lips parted slightly, _begging_ to be reddened by a masterful kiss. And then there was her _voice_…he had never seen such a vision, nor heard such ecstasy in a sound _in his life_.

General Loghain's mind ceased its tormented swirling. He understood the irrelevance of his fears now. This woman before him had the power to defeat all his enemies, keep potential invaders at bay, and unify the Noble Houses in Denerim.

The aging warrior began to tremble. His knees shook. Long forgotten urges thrummed through his body. The Hero of River Dane became giddy with the vision of tangled limbs and sweating loins in nights of steamy, musky passion. At long last here was someone able to rid him of the never-ending, aching loneliness caused by the loss of Rowan.

The Teyrn's heart opened up to the possibility of the hope and peace exuding from her. Loghain stared into the unknown face of perfect love, raised his arms to the clouds, and _rejoiced_!

Hopefully he could get the antidote to Eamon in time for the Arl to attend the wedding.

^.^

_Eeek…._

_Heh heh heh. _

_Guess I don't have to say how A/U this is! XD_

_Also, thanks to The Carpenters and Buddy Holly…may your perfection always stand the test of time._


	2. Torrin Remembers Niall

_BioWare owns Dragon Age…_

_ChampionTheWonderSnail owns Alyce…_

_Inspired By chapter 5 of ChampionTheWonderSnail's incredibly entertaining/heartbreaking/hilarious 'Remembering Aunt Mildred':_

'His hand had snaked out to grab hers, snatching it back almost immediately as though contact with her had burned him. She watched him stare at the floor, hands resolutely clenched by his sides, murmuring profuse apologies. He wasn't even blushing, just looking paler than usual._'_

_It tugged at my heartstrings…_

Q.Q

Torrin settled himself onto the large cushion. With straightened back, crossed legs, limp arms, and partially closed eyes, he concentrated on his breathing. Whispers and rustling fell away, shuttled off by will alone into distant corners of the chamber. The cool dampness that clung to surrounding ancient stone receded, soon to be replaced by a sense of weightlessness. Clearing his mind was another matter. Focusing on drawing in air through his nostrils, feeling the sharp chill against nose hairs, and slowly expanding lungs hadn't entirely banished his thoughts. That took a bit more concentration. Sorting out the jumbled mess of memories, images and roiling emotions meant plucking, categorizing and then locking them away, neat and organized.

He'd been captured by the Templars as a young boy, horribly confused by their hate. His parents and fellow villagers had no fear of him, so why did the Templars? The Tower enchanters explained the mystery. Magic was potentially dangerous, and must be contained for public safety. A choice of death or tranquility was offered to those who did not find wisdom in the logic. He kept his silence, but nevertheless rebelled, in mind if not in words. The thought of freedom teased him constantly, though it remained as remote and distant as the lighthouse flickering in the early morning mist. Torrin spent his teenage years learning and growing, trying to harness the magicks throughout the onslaught of raging hormones. Alas, even the giggling, fumbling trysts in closets did not give him the sense of freedom he longed for.

One day, a tiny mouse of a boy was brought to him for orientation. A small pinched face hid behind rumpled hair, little lips trembling with cold and fear. Mabari-brown eyes peeked, soft and pleading, past tousled strands to stare up at him in abject misery. His heart went out to the little Niall.

He promptly adopted the lad as his brother, and they formed a strong camaraderie that spanned the years. The difference in temperament and philosophy never hindered their mutual respect. He wanted self-determination, whereas Niall believed in isolation. Torrin sought to teach; Niall required knowledge. Torrin's outgoing personality gave him opportunities for advancement in the Tower's hierarchy. Niall was shy and awkward in the company of others, even those he mentored - most notably, Alyce.

An image of the young Alyce came to mind. Tall, gangly and usually a tad unkempt, the newly harrowed mage reminded him of a filly he had once watched frolic about the grounds near the Spoiled Princess. She was nervous at first meetings, wide-eyed when approached, and constantly tested the strength of those who thought to master her. A perfect foil for the bashful, self-deprecating Niall.

Alyce had an exasperating inability to keep her opinions to herself. Undeniably talented, blessed with a remarkable self-discipline when _using_ magic, she was forever aggravating her instructors with inane commentary whilst studying.

Niall had _adored_ her. Unfortunately, the girl was too young to understand or see the signs of his devotion. By the time she was old enough to do so, it was too late.

Torrin knew of his best friend's dilemma. Niall's greatest fear was the creation of another mage; another _prisoner_. Although the Isolationist longed for the comfort of companionship, his fears kept him from physical gratification. Thinking to detach himself from temptation by dissolving their teacher/student relationship, Niall had asked the Senior Enchanter to take over Alyce's training - in case his resolve wavered. Alyce was heartbroken, believing herself rejected. Torrin had felt both empathic _and_ irritated by Niall's decision, but chose to keep his own counsel. A choice he regretted now.

In the end, Niall's yearning remained forever silent. Uldred was to blame for destroying the hope and beauty that could have been. Uldred's madness cut short the life of many, Niall's included. Alyce would never know.

Torrin grasped the thoughts, having allowed them their time, and gently pushed them into the recesses of his psyche. There they would rest, satiated for now. His mind at peace, he began to visualize where he wanted to be. Though lyrium was used by most of the mages, he'd learned of lucid dreaming _before_ entering the Tower. It was a matter of concentration and meditation.

Through the narrowed slits of his eyelids he could see the chamber alter, transforming in shape and colour. The bed, nightstand, table and bookshelf disappeared. Colour muted, varying in shades of grey and brown. Pillars appeared before him, contorted and tilted against the uneven ground. A human shape, faint but still discernible, stood a short distance away.

"Hello, my friend. Do you bring news of my mother? Or, perhaps, of Alyce?" the man's soft voice inquired.

Now fully in the Fade, Torrin opened his eyes and smiled, rising to his feet. "Your mother sends word that never has there been a woman in Thedas more proud of her son, Niall. And Alyce mourns, but she is young. We both know time heals all wounds, little brother, if we learn to seize life's opportunities."

Q.Q

[sniffle] _Why do I have this sudden insane urge to write a Niall Observation now? Waaaah!_

**Thank you for the supportive reviews – **_**Shakespira, ChampionTheWonderSnail, Josie Lange, Abydos Jackson, Reyavie, sleepyowlet, Ventisquear, Enaid Aderyn, and Ygrain33! **_**:D**


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